Gemotions

The elevator doors opened with a hiss, and Emily stepped into the overly-air-conditioned lobby. She hated the sterile scent of the place, a manufactured attempt at professionalism. Everything felt fake, staged. Today, the feeling was especially strong.

Her shoulders were hunched, and her steps were heavy. She avoided eye contact with the receptionist, a bright-eyed young woman who always seemed to be brimming with a joy Emily couldn’t comprehend. Every forced greeting from her colleagues felt like a barb.

She gripped her coffee cup so tightly, her knuckles were white. The bitter taste did nothing to rouse her from this state of sluggish apathy. Every step towards her desk felt like trudging through quicksand.